


Green Beans and Fedoras

by twistedmiracle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-06 13:25:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4223388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedmiracle/pseuds/twistedmiracle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry runs into someone unexpectedly, gets some weird advice, and decides to take it. What could possibly go wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chibitoaster](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=chibitoaster), [shiftylinguini](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiftylinguini/gifts).



> Written for the last HDS-Beltane fest. I'm going to miss this fest! The first chapter of this was intended as a pinch hit for Chibitoaster, but then it turned out not to be necessary and it was officially gifted to The HDS Beltane Community. Nonetheless, I wrote it with Chibitoaster's requests and desires in mind, so here, I'll state that explicitly!
> 
> As for the second and third chapters, I think we can blame shiftylinquini for those. ;)  
> (Sorry to take so long in getting out the 3rd chapter, shiftylinquini!)

**Title:** Green beans and Fedoras  
**To:** chibitoaster  
**Rating:** R  
**Story notes:** This is a bit shorter than my usual, but I hope it hits the spot, nonetheless!  
**Betaed by:** HDS-Beltane moderators  
**Author's Note:** What a pleasure to write for someone as talented as Chibitoaster!

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If there was one thing Harry was never going to do for himself again, it was cook. So, when Kreacher finally agreed to retire about three years after the war, Harry found himself eating out at Muggle restaurants. Sometimes as much as three times a day. Cereal in a bowl with milk was fine, or some pre-made salad from Tesco. But anything more than that, he just wasn’t interested. It reminded him too much of his time with the Dursleys. 

And there was a sort of thrill to it sometimes. What if it wasn’t a fully Muggle restaurant? What if not everybody in there was a Muggle? Would he get accosted? Would he get photographed? Would he end up in the fucking Daily Prophet? He never knew exactly. Every time it didn’t happen, it was such a relief. 

Since the end of the war Harry’s relationship with the wizarding world had been deteriorating. He’d had to quit Auror school because of the Elder Wand – which he hadn’t been able or willing to explain to the wizarding world. He’d had to quit Ginny because of the whole “liking cock too much” thing and he hadn’t been able to explain that, either. 

And so Harry did his best to avoid all press and even most wizards. He still spent lots of time with the Weasleys, he still visited his old Hogwarts friends, but he just didn’t want to be the man the general wizarding public wanted him to be. He couldn’t be who they wanted him to be. And he found himself living an increasingly isolated and irritated life. 

Of course, the cards were stacked against him. An encounter was inevitable when you risked it over and over. The less he wanted it to happen, the more likely it was to occur. Harry understood this. What he never expected was that the wizard he would run into was Severus Snape. 

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Something about the tall, thin, dark-haired man in front of him in line at the Chinese Buffet had Harry intrigued. He usually picked up tall, thin blonds, but despite the man’s colouring Harry found himself leaning over to mention that, “The garlic green beans here are particularly good.” 

“Oh?” The other man drawled in a tone so dismissive that Harry looked sharply up, into his face. With that voice, that carriage, he almost expected to see that majestic nose and those hawk-like eyes. 

They each took a serving of the green beans – Snape a small one and Harry a heap. Then, without discussion, Harry followed Snape to a corner booth and watched him cast _Muffliato_ to preserve their privacy from the Chinese waitstaff who came to clear the plates and offer more tea. 

“Didn’t know you lived in London?” Harry asked, realizing halfway through the sentence that wizards didn’t necessarily eat dinner in their own cities, what with Floos and _Apparition_ and such. 

“Didn’t know you liked Muggle green beans,” Snape answered without answering, and they ate a few bites without looking at one another. Harry noticed that while he used chopsticks, Snape used a knife and fork. He wondered if that meant something. 

“Have you been well?” Harry finally tried again. When Snape stayed silent Harry swallowed a heavy sigh and spoke about himself, instead. “I’ve been crafting brooms, myself. Managed to sell a model to Comet last month so I’m taking a bit of a break. Trying my hand at photography lately, as well. You?” 

Snape looked at Harry over the tops of his horn-rimmed spectacles. Harry wondered when Snape had started to wear them. Then he wondered when Snape would speak. 

They sat silently for a few more minutes, and eventually Harry found himself with an empty plate. “Be right back,” he muttered, and got up for more greasy lo mein and some won ton soup. When he returned, Snape seemed to be readying himself to leave the restaurant. 

“Nice to catch up,” Harry said sarcastically, as Snape stood. Snape looked down at him, over his nose. Harry looked up, his spoonful of soup dangling in the air between them. 

“I understand you date men?” Snape finally said, and slightly surprised, Harry simply nodded. He fervently hoped Snape wasn’t about to ask him out. 

“And clearly,” Snape said, raising one side of his mouth into a slight sneer, “you are both lonely and bored.” 

“Hey,” Harry said mildly, but he didn’t bother with further protest. 

“Owl him,” Snape said, and he produced a slip of parchment folded into a very small square. “It will do you both good, and it shall amuse me no end.” 

Harry accepted the parchment, and then put down his spoonful of soup, as unfolding it was clearly going to require both hands. By the time he read the words, Snape was gone. Which was probably a good thing, as Harry had half a mind to follow him and make a scene. Snape’s spiky, aggressive handwriting read: 

Draco Malfoy, Antiquities: sales, valuations and repairs 

184 Antiphon Alley, downstairs

(He’s also gay and just as lonely as you clearly and pathetically are.) 

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Harry hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d told Snape that he’d sold a broom and was therefore taking time off work. Crafting broom prototypes was more demanding than Harry had expected when he’d whimsically given it a try some years before. It required a great deal of instinct, strong abilities with Charms, a love of wood, a love of flying, and a surprisingly high number of Muggle wood-crafting tools. Harry assumed he had to be the only wizard in England with a lathe, a bandsaw and an industrial strength vacuum cleaner with HEPA filters. He loved his work, but this last prototype had been both exhausting to create and fabulously remunerative once sold. Comet had been forced to parcel out his payments over the next year in order to buy the full rights to replicate the broom’s design and spell combinations. Harry didn’t much need to work for money already, and for the next two months he was quite sure he needed not to work for his sanity. 

Even Hermione approved, and that really told him something. 

Nonetheless, it surprised him to find himself, three days after his strange encounter with Snape, considering _Apparating_ to Antiphon Alley. Not only did he avoid wizarding areas almost religiously; not only did Harry find the idea of asking Malfoy out to be purely bizarre; Harry had yet to go out with a wizard at all. He’d come out to the wizarding world after he’d left Ginny. Mostly on purpose, even. That was back in the day when he’d still believed he could find a way to make the wizarding world accept him for himself. But once that proved to be out of reach, and Harry had put the wizarding world at arm’s length, he’d stopped trying to go out with wizards. Completely. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see wizards. When he let himself get sentimental about it, he knew he wanted it very much. Harry resorted to Muggle gay bars when he got lonely enough, and while he enjoyed the company of other gay men, and sex in loos and hotels, he found it impossible to get serious enough about a Muggle to tell him that he was a wizard. After all, it was awfully hard to get serious about a man when you weren’t ready to tell him about eighty to ninety percent of your life. It was a Catch 22, and Harry didn’t like it, but he couldn’t trust wizard strangers and none of the men he’d grown up with were gay. 

Or so he’d thought. 

Thus, his unexpected willingness to consider Snape’s suggestion. 

It didn’t hurt that he still had no intention of starting another broom project, and yet he was fabulously bored. Two days of lazing about in his underwear watching telly and eating crisps had been more than enough, and while he’d enjoyed a week on the Isle of Skye immediately after signing the papers with Comet, he didn’t want to spend the next couple of months away from home. Even with a new darkroom in his basement, a new Nikon SpellCrafter to experiment with, and rolls of film still left to develop from his week on Skye, Harry had only been able to waste three days after Snape gave him Malfoy’s address. 

So instead, Harry went shopping. 

At Tesco he bought all the already prepared foods and fresh produce he usually picked up. This never took long, but strawberries were in season right now, and not to be missed. Then he surreptitiously _Apparated_ home and put it all away before heading back out to his favourite Oxfam shop. He found a pair of worn jeans that made his arse look nearly edible, a decent pair of leather brogues that needed a bit of spellwork, and a huge stack of t-shirts that he wavered about back and forth while he wandered the rest of the shop. In the end he put back most of the shirts, but kept a concert t-shirt from Elvis Costello and the Attractions and another from The Police. At the last minute he bought a black and grey Fedora, too. The matron at the till winked at him as she watched him dither over the hat. “It looks brill on you, luv,” she said, and grinning at her, Harry bought it and brought it all home. 

Then, screwing up both his courage and curiosity, Harry put on his new jeans and Elvis shirt, cast a few spells at his hair, put on the fedora and _Apparated_ to Antiphon Alley. He found himself only two doors down from 184, and walked there briskly, head down and steps businesslike. Thankfully, no one bothered him. Malfoy’s shop had a small sign on the door, and an attached bell that was there to jangle an alert to the shop owner when a customer entered. A tall blond stood behind the counter, looking down at a large ledger. 

Harry pushed open the door and the blond looked up at the ring of the bell. Unsurprisingly, it was Malfoy, though Harry nonetheless felt a shock of recognition ricochet through his nerves. 

Malfoy was clearly surprised to see Harry, too, though he did a passable job of hiding it after the first few seconds. 

“Potter,” he finally said in a clipped, professional voice. “Have you an antiquity you would like appraised?” 

When Harry shook his head no, Malfoy forcibly stopped himself from frowning and tried again. “Were you in the market for something in particular, then? My inventory is rather fine right now.…” 

Malfoy trailed off as Harry blushed, dipped his head down, and then looked up once again, finally speaking. “Snape suggested I contact you,” he admitted. “Ran into him at a Muggle restaurant last week.” 

Malfoy raised one eyebrow and carefully kept his mouth shut. 

“He, er, thought….” Harry scratched his ear, straightened his spine, and leaped before any further looking. “I was hoping you would go out to dinner with me Friday night.” 

“You were not.” Malfoy stated baldly. He put his palms down flat on his counter and leaned forward slightly, a look of annoyance on his face. 

“I was so!” Harry said, angry at being contradicted. 

“Of course you don’t want to take me to dinner, Potter, and you can’t believe I would be _fool_ enough to believe that you would. If Snape had anything to do with this, which I doubt –” 

Blushing but still angry, Harry dumped the note from Snape on the counter and humphed, only remembering the damning commentary on the bottom as Malfoy picked it up to read it. 

Oh well, too late now. So he jutted out his jaw and crossed his arms over his chest as though he could care less that Snape had called them both pathetically lonely. 

Malfoy looked over the note, then raised one eyebrow at Harry, who was both dismayed and charmed to find it sexy. 

“I’m sure you recognise his handwriting,” Harry said with all the pride he could still find. 

“I recognise his... candid wit, as well,” Malfoy said, and Harry thought Malfoy might be hiding a smile. 

“I sort of forgot that was on there,” Harry said, figuring if he couldn’t be honest now, with Malfoy, then what was he doing here, egg on his face or no? He scratched at his messy hair and tried to offer Malfoy a winning little grin. 

“I sort of assumed,” Malfoy said, but this time there was an actual smile, and he let Harry see it. 

“I would, genuinely, like to take you to dinner Friday night,” Harry tried again, softer; and he tipped his head slightly and looked at Malfoy from under the brim of his “brill” new fedora. 

“Forgive my candor, but why?” Malfoy asked, and this time he crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Er,” Harry said, slightly taken aback. It was a perfectly reasonable question, but he was a bit surprised to be asked. “Well, I’m not the most articulate man, but I’ll try to explain.” He put his hands in his pockets and looked out the window for a moment, thinking through the reasons he’d used to convince himself to _Apparate_ over and walk through Malfoy’s door. “Snape’s right. I’m lonely. I go out to Muggle bars occasionally, but I can’t seem to get to know a Muggle well enough to tell him the truth about my life. Because how can I get to know him if I can’t tell him the truth about my life?” He shrugged and looked at Malfoy, who nodded once, though he did not smile. 

“None of my old friends are gay, and I can’t feel comfortable around a gay wizard I don’t already know, because I hate publicity and I have no way of knowing who’s sincere and who wants a fat cheque from Witch Weekly.” Harry tore his eyes from the window. He needed to look Malfoy right in the eye for this, even if it took some courage to say it. “You’re gay, you’re a wizard, we’ve known each other for years, and frankly, you’re really fucking hot.” 

Malfoy straightened his spine and widened his eyes, then narrowed them. “How do you know _I_ don’t want a fat cheque from Witch Weekly?” he asked, his voice clipped and tight. 

“What, and get me in the paper? As I recall you always hated when I got fawned over by the press.” Harry winked at Malfoy, who blushed and looked away. But this time, his smile came more easily. 

“Besides, it took me most of my life, but I’ve learned to trust Snape. At least, on the big stuff. So I figured… if he suggested I look you up, it was probably worth a shot.” Harry took his hands out of his pockets and put them on Malfoy’s counter. “So, with all that said, can I take you out to dinner Friday night? There’s this sushi place I like, on Cranbourn, in the theater district. Do you like sushi?” Harry swallowed. Every single card was on the table now, and he still had almost no idea whether he was about to be rejected. 

Malfoy tipped his head very slightly to the right, and Harry was struck by a desire to kiss the man. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d called Malfoy “really fucking hot.” He’d been willing to try this in large part because Malfoy was his “type,” and because he remembered him as being good looking and having a nice enough arse. But either his memory was inadequate, or (more likely, he thought) Malfoy was hotter at twenty-three and established than he had been at seventeen and terrified. 

Because since he’d entered Malfoy’s shop, his physical interest in Malfoy had only increased. He was taller now than Harry remembered, which was something, since Harry had grown three inches since the war ended, himself. His hair was bristle-brush short in the back and long on top, and his shop-keeper robes showed off a nice set of pecs and a broad pair of shoulders. The stern navy robes hinted at a pair of strong arms under his long sleeves. Then they cut away to show a waistcoat on a trim waist and what Harry rather hoped was legs up to there and an arse to die for. 

Malfoy cleared his throat, and Harry guiltily dragged his eyes back to Malfoy’s face. “You… meant that, earlier. Thinking I’m… attractive.” 

“Duh?” Harry said, incredulous. “Do you not get puddles of drool in here on a regular basis?” 

Malfoy flushed a dull red and Harry was utterly charmed. 

“Most of my patrons are elderly matrons,” Malfoy said, the curtness of his tone belied by the shyness in his eyes. He started to trace a spiral pattern on the wooden counter, then stopped abruptly when he noticed Harry watching. 

“Elderly matrons have eyes, Malfoy,” Harry said. “And yes, I meant every word. And every glance. Look, man, you’re killing me here. Can I pick you up at 8 on Friday, or should I slink home and drown myself in lager and a vat of crisps?” 

“Friday.” Malfoy said swiftly, looking like he was sure he would regret it. “If you’ll…” he hesitated and Harry wanted to finish his sentence but had no idea what might come next. 

“That is….” Malfoy flushed a deeper red and Harry leaned onto the counter, feeling guilty for causing such discomfort. 

“What can I do for you?” Harry finally asked. 

“Just… a little something to remember you by?” Malfoy finally said, staring a hole in the counter next to Harry’s right hand. 

“Oh!” Harry said, smiling, feeling his cock thicken a bit. “Oh…. Yes. Sure. For sure.” 

Harry strolled around the counter and saw, to his pleasure, that Malfoy was just as tall as he’d thought. He neither wore high shoes, nor had a step up hiding behind his counter. He didn’t need them. He had to be well over six feet tall. 

Shooting a spell at the door to lock it and darken the glass, Harry hoisted himself onto Malfoy’s smooth wooden counter and opened his legs wide, then reached over for Malfoy, taking him by the waist. He pulled Malfoy in, put one hand in the other man’s silky hair, and pulled Malfoy toward his mouth. Gently, he pressed one kiss to Malfoy’s dry, soft lips, then released the man’s hair and smiled. “Still willing to go out with me?” he asked coyly, and Malfoy gave him a wolfish smile. 

“Perhaps,” was all he said, but he stepped in and put his arms around Harry’s back. “Give me a little more to remember?” 

“With pleasure,” Harry said, and he put his hand on Malfoy’s pert arse and pulled. This time when his lips found Malfoy’s lips, he opened his mouth. Malfoy opened his as well, and when their tongues tangled Harry tightened his grip on Malfoy’s backside and found himself cock to cock and – momentarily – erection to erection. Harry moaned into Malfoy’s mouth and lost himself in the other man’s touch. Shifting eagerly, he rubbed their cocks together and saw stars. 

“Did you need to save something for Friday?” Harry panted into Malfoy’s ear. 

“Did I need to in order to see you again?” Malfoy asked softly, biting tiny kisses into Harry’s neck. 

“Nuh, no,” Harry stuttered as his fedora fell to the counter. Malfoy grabbed Harry’s denim-clad arse hard and rocked his hips. Harry pushed Malfoy’s robe away and cupped perfect round globes in his hands. He pulled himself forward and wrapped his ankles around Malfoy’s thighs. Rocking against one another, kissing, stroking shoulders and hair and backs and arses, the two men came quickly, panting and hissing their pleasure. 

“Er,” Harry said, embarrassed, “That was fast.” He felt himself turning red and wondered if he’d lost his chance. 

“Sorry to rush you,” Malfoy whispered. “I am trying to run a business, though.” He kissed Harry’s temple and Harry reluctantly let go of Malfoy’s arse. 

“Friday then? Seven forty-five?” 

“Floo is upstairs,” Malfoy agreed. “You can use it now, if you’d like. I should really unlock the door.” He waved his wand (beech, Harry thought, impressed) and once again Harry felt clean, dry and comfortable inside his jeans. 

“I can _Apparate_ ,” Harry said, and he hopped down from the counter and ran a hand through his hair. He picked his fedora back up and put it on, then – feeling gallant – he took Malfoy’s hand in his own and kissed the air immediately above. “See you Friday night,” he said, and spun into the air. 

“Merlin’s pants!” he exclaimed into the quiet air of his lounge, and went in search of his Muggle phone book. He needed to make a reservation for 8 on Friday. There was no way he was fucking up this date. 

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	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm afraid I couldn't find a beta for this chapter....

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Chapter Two

It wasn’t until Harry felt ready to step into his Floo on Friday night at seven forty-five, that he realized he’d not told Malfoy that he should dress for an upscale _Muggle_ restaurant. 

“Oh well,” he mumbled out loud. Working alone as he did, he’d developed a bit of a habit of talking to himself. “Surely Malfoy won’t look too out of place wearing Wizarding fashion. It is the theater district, after all.” 

But when he stumbled out of Malfoy’s Floo seconds later, Harry found a slightly nervous looking Malfoy wearing a beautifully tailored Muggle suit. 

“You look great!” Harry finally said. 

“You look surprised,” Malfoy said drily. 

Harry felt his face get a bit warm, and he tried to give Malfoy a disarming smile. “Sorry, my fault. I only just realized I never told you I’d made a reservation at a Muggle restaurant, so I just assumed you would be wearing….” 

“Something awful?” Malfoy said. His hands had gone to his hips and he looked annoyed. 

“Something _fahh_ bulous?” Harry tried, unsure of how Malfoy would receive his attempt at humour. 

“Absolutely fabulous?” Malfoy said. Then he winked and gave a curtsy that was somehow both delicate and exaggerated. Harry clamped his mouth shut tight so it wouldn’t drop open. 

“Come Harry,” Malfoy said, heading for the stairs. “We have to go downstairs to _Apparate_ and you made a reservation.” 

Harry held tight to the railing on the way down. He didn’t quite trust himself not to trip after that exchange.

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Harry _Side-Alonged_ Malfoy to a warded spot inside a bus shelter, and soon they were walking down Cranbourn away from most of the theaters. Harry’s favourite Muggle sushi place was tiny, hidden above-stairs over a mobile phone storefront and next to a struggling travel agency. Harry caught himself trying to guess what Malfoy thought about such a bastion of Muggle culture, but soon realized that Malfoy either had no thoughts at all, or his Poker face was much improved over what he’d managed at Hogwarts.  
Either answer was probably just fine, Harry realized as they reached the front door of Uezu’s. “I do hope you like Japanese food?” Harry said as he opened the door, and Draco swept in gracefully.

“Of course,” Draco said simply, and it wasn’t long before they were seated on cushions on the floor, sipping green tea and admiring the simple decor. 

“How did you find this place?” Draco asked once he’d looked at all three of the paintings. They were all of cats. Two of the cats were looking at landscapes through windows. One showed a woman in a green and silver kimono petting a black cat on her lap.

“Hermione,” Harry answered, and smiled. “She has this thing about really getting to know and appreciate London. Once she started working at the Ministry she just got this bee in her bonnet about needing to really “fully inhabit” the city. So she’s constantly on the prowl for new things to experience.” 

“Like?” Draco said, and there was interest in his eyes. He sipped his tea while Harry considered his answer. 

“Like the three of us started going to the theater.” Harry began. “And restaurants, obviously. Museums, too. Wizarding ones when she can find them, but mostly Muggle. We’ve toured Buckingham Palace, even done quite a few of those Muggle walking tours.” Harry sipped his tea again and chuckled. “Those are usually hilarious.” 

Draco rested his chin in his hand and showed Harry a small, mild smile. “How so?” 

“Muggles have some seriously funny stories to explain us. Especially since they have no idea what they are even explaining! But they think a lot of wizarding places are haunted, for example. The most banal Apparation locations, for example. I suppose the Ministry Obliviators might be to blame for some of those beliefs, but if you just walk along on the tour and listen… well. Ron and I almost always have to apply an anti-giggle charm to keep Hermione from smacking us with her umbrella.” Harry chuckled. 

“So,” Harry tried after the server brought their appetiser. “Do you get into London much? Have as much as you like, by the way.” He waved toward the tiny dumplings and Draco took one with his chopsticks. 

“Good?” Harry asked, and watched as Draco smiled and nodded, then took a second dumpling. Grinning widely, Harry took a dumpling for himself, hoping Draco was actually enjoying them and not just humouring him. 

“I like Muggle London a lot more than you might expect of a man raised as I was,” Draco said quietly. He was smiling, looking toward the painting of a sleek grey cat staring at Mt. Fuji through a large window. “I enjoy the parks whenever the weather is good and I can get away from my shop, and I’ve started working with the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office quite a lot lately. That gets me out to a lot of, if you can believe it, Muggle homes and antique shops.” 

“Now _that_ ” Harry said as he took another dumpling, “sounds fascinating!” 

“Well,” Draco said, smiling his amusement, “I don’t know about fascinating, but however it happens, magical items seem to end up in Muggle hands fairly often. A few times a month, at least, and when the MMA gets wind of another one, I often head out with them so the Muggle can be properly compensated for their appropriated object, and I get first crack at selling whatever it is in my shop.” Draco gestured toward the last dumpling, but Harry waved his offer away, and Draco took it up and ate it.

“It’s how I learned how to use Muggle pounds,” Draco said off-handedly after he swallowed, but Harry could see the deliberate way Draco chose to bring it up, and he was touched. 

“That’s brilliant,” Harry said. “So few wizards have any idea of how to deal with pounds. I was raised with them, but I still get confused about them sometimes now. Actually, on the subject of me being confused,” Harry gave what he hoped was a charming smile, “I was surprised when I was able to _Apparate_ out of your shop. How do you prevent theft?”

“Oh,” Draco said, chuckling, “by warding all my _items_! My customers are welcome to come and go as they please during business hours, but if you try to take something out of the building that you haven’t paid for? Well, you can’t. Not by walking, by Floo, by Portkey, or by _Apparation_.”

“Clever!” Harry said.

The server brought them an enormous platter of beautiful sushi, sashimi, and a few pickled vegetables. Harry gestured toward it, hoping Draco would take something confidently. 

Instead, Draco looked silently at the platter, his chopsticks in the air, dangling downwards like the snout of a chastised dog. 

“Is something wrong?” Harry asked, now nervous. 

Draco hesitated; then he put down his chopsticks, looked Harry square in the eye, and took a visible, deep breath. 

“I just can’t help wondering when the other Bludger will hit, you know?” He looked down at the food for a moment, then looked up again. His smile was apologetic. “What the hell is going on here? You and me? On a date? Having a good time? Getting along? It’s crazy. It’s… it’s too crazy. Isn’t it?” He looked down at his food again, and made his chopsticks dance nervously. 

Harry had to drag his eyes away from them. 

“Er,” Harry said intelligently. “I don’t know. Crazy or not, I really am enjoying your company. Can’t we just… see?” 

“I‘m enjoying your company too, Harry, but surely that isn’t enough.” 

His words were forceful, but his tone was uncertain, so Harry looked into his eyes, and saw, of all things, dismay. Harry reached across the table and gently pulled the chopsticks from Draco’s hand. Then he took Draco’s icy left hand into both of his own, and warmed it. “I think it’s a good start,” he said as mildly as he could. He sort of wanted to jump over the table, climb into Draco’s lap and snog him into submission, but that seemed like a stupid idea. At least, it did above his waist. 

Draco’s hand was warming up and he wasn’t pulling away, so Harry took a deep breath, thought about what he wanted to convey, and only then did he speak. 

“I know we have bad history, but so far we’ve put that behind us very calmly and maturely. We obviously have good physical alchemy, too.” 

Draco made a slightly strangled, snorting sound, and Harry smiled. 

“So, it isn’t about us, it isn’t about me, and I don’t really get the impression it is about you.” 

Draco looked overwhelmed, but he moved his head a little, and Harry decided it looked like agreement. “Okay then,” he said. It’s something though, so… is it your parents?” 

Draco looked surprised. “Going right for the jugular?” he asked quietly, but he didn’t pull his hand away. “No, Mum just wants me to be happy, and she’s accepted that this will mean a man. Father… well.” Draco’s voice and spine got slightly stiffer. “His opinion no longer affects my choices.” 

Not wanting to give any impression whatsoever of gloating, Harry nodded delicately. He’d technically helped put Draco’s father in Azkaban, but so many people had wanted to testify against Lucius Malfoy that most of them – Harry included – had just submitted written statements, and the Wizengamot had made it fairly clear that they hadn’t even bothered to read most of those very carefully. They’d apparently noted which were for a guilty verdict, and basically just... counted them. Or so they had claimed to the press.

And Mrs Malfoy had told Harry to his face right after the trials that as far as she was concerned, he had done the right thing, and any Life Debt she might have held over him had been fulfilled when he’d written statements in favour of both she and Draco staying out of jail. 

“Then,” Harry tried again, “are you worried about what regular people will say? Or the newspapers?” 

“Or your friends?” Draco said, and Harry had hardly heard him. 

“Is this about Ron and Hermione, then?” 

“That had… occurred to me,” Draco said roughly. “As a potential obstacle.” 

“I love them both very much, Draco, but not in _that way_.” Harry winked, but Draco flushed and pulled his hand from Harry’s grasp. 

“Okay, okay,” Harry placated. He could hear the anxiety in his own voice and took a deep breath. “I shouldn’t have been flippant. What I should have said was, they don’t get to make these decisions for me.” 

“Is that fully true, though? I have to wonder,” Draco said. He finally took up his chopsticks and poked at the wasabi. Then he picked up a beautiful slice of tuna sashimi and popped it in his mouth. The corners of his smile turned up, but to Harry, it seemed to include sadness. Harry tried not to frown. 

“Do you believe that due to your own personal experiences, or from observing me?” Harry said, regretting his sentence structure even as he uttered it. “I sound like a stuffy old blow hard,” he muttered, and Draco smiled again. This time, with warmth. 

“Both, I suppose,” Draco answered slowly. He picked up a bit of salmon and Harry took some sea bass. It was delicious. 

“All right,” Harry said, “but your observations of me are pretty out of date, right?” 

Draco picked up some sea bass and ate it instead of answering, but he gave a little nod to concede the point. 

“So,” Harry said, feeling unprepared but determined. “How do I convince you that my friends, while wonderful people who mean the world to me, don’t want to screw up my love life, and wouldn’t be allowed to screw this up even if they did want to?” 

Draco blushed slightly and ate the last piece of salmon sashimi. Harry ate the last piece of sea bass and, using his wand under the table, surreptitiously split the last piece of tuna sashimi into two exactly equal pieces. Draco smiled and took one. Harry took the other and thought about what sort of proof he could offer. 

“I could tell you how much Hermione wants me to ‘find a nice wizard already,’ Harry tried, but Draco shrugged elegantly. 

“I could tell you how glad Ron is that I’m not dating his little sister,” Harry said, but Draco just raised his head, raised one eyebrow, and took some ginger with his chopsticks. 

“No dice, hm?” Harry said, and frowned. He, too, took a bit of ginger to clear his palate. Then he sipped at his green tea. What the hell could he say to convince this man? He _really_ wanted to get into Draco’s trousers tonight. And this time, he actually wanted to get their trousers off _before_ they got off! 

Harry looked at all the beautiful sushi, and thought about how much more beautiful Draco was. How much more delicious. How much more mouth watering. Harry put his chopsticks down. 

“I have not,” he began slowly, “been unable to keep a kiss from turning into an orgasm inside my pants, since I was eighteen. With the notable exception of a few days ago, with you.” 

Draco smiled smugly, but said nothing. Instead, he put a touch of wasabi in a tiny bowl and added a bit of soy sauce. He stirred it with the ends of his pale wooden chopsticks. Harry watched him. 

“Until Tuesday, I had not ever held a perfect arse in my hands.”

Draco rested his chin in his hand and picked up a piece of sushi. As he deftly turned it upside down to dip the fish gently into the sauce, Harry waited. When Draco put the fish into his mouth, Harry made a point of watching Draco’s lips. 

“And since I left your shop, I have masturbated no less than twice a day, every day.” 

Draco’s cheeks suddenly flamed and he put down his chopsticks and picked up his tea. 

“With the exception of Tuesday,” Harry said slowly, “when I had to jerk off to the memory of you coming in your pants while I kissed you no less than four times in order to accomplish _anything_.” 

Draco put his tea down with an exaggerated gentleness and then looked up at Harry, his eyes wide, surprised, and almost innocent. 

“Have I told you,” Harry said, smiling, “that I have grown into a very patient man?” 

Draco shook his head and sipped his tea, a bemused smile dawning on his face. 

“Well, I have. These days I am capable of slipping a cock ring on myself, and another onto my lover, and then creatively fellating you for twenty, thirty, forty minutes. I can do this while a dildo opens up my arse, or I can simultaneously finger fuck you until you are wet and open enough to take even _my_ cock.” 

Draco raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips, telegraphing scepticism. 

“If you prefer, I can kiss your gorgeous round arse. I can lick it, too. I can tongue fuck you. I love to rim, Draco, but the sexier the arse, the more eager I am to spread it open and bury my face in it. Have you ever _heard_ someone rim you?”

Draco slowly shook his head, his eyes wide and his face now mostly red. He didn’t look like he was quite in charge of his responses anymore. 

“When I rim you, Draco, you won’t just feel it, you won’t just enjoy it. You’ll hear it. And I don’t mean the noises of pleasure I’ll make, although, I assure you, with an arse as round and high and muscular as yours, I will be moaning.” Harry reached across the table and took Draco’s hands into his own. “What I am really talking about, are the wet, squelching noises we are going to make together, as I drool all over the bed while I tongue fuck open your tight little hole.”

Draco squeezed Harry’s hands, once, like he’d been shocked with electricity. His cheeks held high, red blotches. His lips parted slightly. Harry stared at them for a moment, then dragged his gaze back to Draco’s glassy eyes.

“Once you can’t stand it anymore, Draco darling, when you are so wet, so open, and so hard that nothing smaller or less talented than my cock could possibly satisfy you, I will slide my big dick into your burning body and fuck you so slow, and then so fast, and so hard. I will only take off the cock rings when you are crying, Draco. When I offer you the choice of coming while I fuck you, or instead coming into my throat? And all you can say anymore is ‘please’ and ‘Harry’. Then I will pull off the cock ring and your dick will explode so hard you might just pass out.”

Draco nodded slowly, like he was hypnotized.

“The sex we are going to have, Draco Malfoy, is going to be the best sex of your life. And mine. We have always been explosive, and this time.... Well, this time we are going to turn that friction into sexual pleasure. And if you think I would let Ron and Hermione fuck that up, when you saved my life at least once? Well, you have got to be fucking kidding me.”

Draco smiled shyly, then gathered himself slightly and raised his eyebrow again. “Do you have any proof of these… gifts?”

Harry smiled confidently and let go of Draco’s hands. “Yes,” he said simply, and pulled his wallet from his jacket pocket. “Last month,” he said, taking his best dick pic out of the secret slot and pushing it across the table. Harry hadn't gotten interested in photography for nothing.

“Nice,” Draco said coolly, but Harry saw his Adam’s apple jerk as he swallowed.

“So I guess, at this point, the only real question left to ask is…” Harry hesitated, putting the photo back. But Draco looked no less interested, so he continued. “Top, or bottom?” 

“You tell me,” Draco said, leaning forward slightly, his pupils now completely blown. 

“Check and a take-away box, please!” Harry said. 

“Are you really that flexible?” Harry asked as they waited impatiently for their server to bring the check. 

“Harry,” Draco said, looking up at him through lowered lashes. “Did you really want to give me such a classic line to riff off of?”


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks and much gratitude to betas StGulik and KhaLulu for the assistance with looking over and helping me improve the fic! Any remaining errors are most assuredly mine.

Harry’s goal was to pay the bill and get himself and Draco out of Uezu’s as soon as possible without causing a scene. 

Unfortunately, their server, who had been blissfully unobtrusive throughout their date, remained inconsiderately unobtrusive even after Harry raised his voice and called, a second time, for the check. 

Draco’s eyes were coming back into focus. The blotches on his cheeks had faded from red to a high pink. “I’ll just go pay up front,” Harry said nervously.

“Was everything all right, Mr Harry?” Uezu frowned as he rang up the meal one loud metal key at a time on his clunky, old-fashioned cash register. Harry usually found the heavy black machine somewhat charming, but tonight he just wanted to charm it into a calculator. 

“Everything was great, Mr Uezu. My date and I are just, er, in a hurry.”

“Will you be seeing a play down the street tonight?” asked Uezu as he took Harry’s bills. “No one wants to miss the curtain call.”

“Er, no,” Harry said. He felt himself blush. “Not tonight. You can keep the change. For the tip.” He stepped backwards away from the till, watching Mr Uezu’s face for acknowledgement.

“Ah!” Uezu said, and he smiled and waved Harry off. “Go! Go! My daughter has boxed the last. Have a good evening. I will not keep you any longer!”

Smiling broadly now, Harry turned to fetch Draco, only to almost step on his feet. Draco had risen from the table and moved to stand behind him. He had Harry’s suit jacket over his arm. “He’s right,” Draco said, smiling once again. “I have the box right here.”

“Let’s go,” Harry said, leaning in so only Draco could hear. He thought his voice sounded calm, but he couldn’t dissolve what he knew was far too wolfish a grin. He’d been impatiently waiting for their next step for several days now.

“Yes,” Draco said, looking into Harry’s eyes. “Yes, let’s.” 

Nodding, Harry didn’t look away from Draco’s eyes, instead reaching out for Draco’s free hand and finding it after a moment of open air and then grasping at Draco’s forearm.

“Go, boys, go!” Mr Uezu broke in with a laugh. “Before you set my curtains on fire with your heavy eyes!”

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Hand in hand, the two of them strode quickly, rushing toward the secluded Apparition spot down the street. Harry was so excited he almost giggled. He turned, looking for just long enough to catch Draco’s eye. The delighted, eager look he found there quickened his step and thickened his cock.

Harry was so distracted, he smacked right into a large, flashily-dressed couple strolling hand-in-hand and laughing. The sushi box went flying and Harry found himself offering a hand of assistance to the lady, only to realize with some horror that he and Draco had accidentally knocked over none other than Rita Skeeter, on a date with Horace Slughorn.

“Professor,” said Draco tonelessly.

“Boys! What an unexpected pleasure!” Slughorn looked so eager to add Harry and Draco to his evening that Harry thought he might see the man rubbing his hands together with glee. Slughorn’s avarice had not abated at all since the last time Harry had interacted with him.

Skeeter, however, looked faintly horrified. She had backed up, as though wishing to hide behind Slughorn. She had turned somewhat pink, and she was not smiling. “We should say goodnight, Horace,” she said. “We have a reservation, and I’m sure Potter and Malfoy have a curtain call to make, as well.”

“Nonsense!” Slughorn boomed out, turning a few Muggle heads. “We’ve plenty of time until dinner, and these lovely fellows are headed away from the theater, aren’t you, boys? They’re all that way!” Slughorn waved his meaty hand down Cranbourn toward Uezu’s and most of the theaters. “Was the play good, boys? I’m always interested in hearing what others think. You should join us for dinner! Have you eaten?”

Horrified, Harry looked helplessly at Draco. He was a pathetically bad liar, but he couldn’t let their date be interrupted, couldn’t spend their evening with these unpleasant people, couldn’t allow their fragile new connection to be sullied by the Daily Prophet. 

Draco himself had gone a terrible greyish-white. His mouth was a flat, tight line. He looked like he might be on the verge of sicking up. It was up to Harry to fix this mess.

“We have eaten,” Harry said carefully. He looked at Draco again, hoping the man would say something. Draco just tightened his mouth miserably, but this gave Harry an idea. 

“As a matter of fact, we had to rush off early. You can see Mr. Malfoy isn’t feeling well. We had the restaurant box up the rest to take away. I was just going to take Malfoy home and make sure he got to bed, straight away.” Harry grimaced--the only method he had for hiding mirth at his own double meaning. He was hardly lying at all.

“Where are your leftovers, then?” Skeeter asked. She still looked uncomfortable at being caught out in Muggle London with Horace Slughorn, but she was clearly unable to dampen her gossipy, suspicious nature.

“You knocked them in the gutter, as it happens,” Draco said tartly. 

Four sets of eyes turned, and indeed, there was the take-away box, spilling beautiful sushi into the dirty street.

Slughorn looked horrified. “Oh, boys!” he boomed. “My deepest apologies! How can we make it up to you?”

Skeeter took Slughorn’s arm into hers. Sounding chastened, she answered Slughorn’s question herself. “I think we can make it up to them by letting them leave in peace, Horace,” she said. Harry thought he saw her staring at Malfoy’s now angrily twisted mouth.

“Indeed,” Harry said, deliberately looking Skeeter right in the eye. He spoke slowly, not looking away. “Perhaps it would be best if all four of us just… forgot this ever happened.”

“Nonsense!” Slughorn started, but Harry watched Skeeter squeeze his arm once. Slughorn looked toward her with surprise on his face, but he said nothing more.

Harry tried again. “After all, Mr Malfoy isn’t feeling well at all. You can see that. He doesn’t want to be reminded of that, _over breakfast_ , as it were.”

“I can understand that,” Skeeter said slowly. Her eyebrows lowered, considering. “Just as I would hate to be reminded of a… confidential time. Over breakfast.” She paused, looking at Harry. He nodded at her once, with caution, but when she nodded back he felt a small bit of tension ease from his shoulders. It eased even more when she pulled Slughorn away, and he followed slowly. 

As Harry and Draco turned to rush away from them, Harry heard Slughorn say, still too loud, “Do you think they were going to have that sushi for breakfast? That seems very odd.”

“Oh, Merlin,” Harry huffed as they rushed toward the Apparition spot again. “The wizarding world is way too fucking small.”

“Too right,” Draco agreed, but he sounded angry and withdrawn, and Harry had to worry, once again, that he’d blown it.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

When they arrived at the bus stop after almost a minute of hurried, silent walking, Harry looked around, but the area was just as deserted as when they had arrived before dinner. He and Draco were no longer holding hands. They had stopped in the process of knocking into Rita Skeeter, and after that, neither of them had reached for the other. 

Harry stared at the bus shelter blankly. It was time to _Apparate_. He knew he needed to ask Draco if he was still willing to come to Harry’s, though he very much didn’t want to _need_ to ask. After all, just ten minutes before, the answer had been more than self-evident. But now… well, Harry knew he had to ask, not assume. He was nervous about the answer, but he reached for Draco’s hand and squeezed it.

“Are you still willing to come to mine?” He managed to speak in a reasonably clear and confident voice, but it was still a question.

Draco turned to him, looking somewhere between snotty and insecure. He pulled his hand away from Harry’s after a moment, to cross his arms over his chest. He turned away from Harry, but said nothing.

“Er,” Harry said. He could hear the quaver that had snuck into his voice and tried to banish it. “I’m not sure what that means. But I’d very much like to take you home. We don’t have to, er, go to bed. Together. If you don’t want.” He couldn’t help adding, “anymore.”

“So you’re not ashamed?” Draco said, his voice clear and cold.

“Wait, what?” Harry was baffled. He had seemed ashamed? “Did you… surely you didn’t _want_ to spend time with, with Skeeter? And Slughorn?”

“No,” Draco snapped, sounding deeply irritated. “Of course not. But… well, why didn’t you?”

“Because… I don’t like them?” 

Draco scowled. 

Harry felt thoroughly inadequate to the task of explaining this. It had been clear as crystal in his mind just a few minutes before, but putting those feelings into words now seemed about as easy as translating Japanese into Hebrew without magic. His mouth opened, but he had nothing, so he closed it again.

Draco, however, was still waiting. Harry had to try. “Those two are… frauds. They show me a kind face -- but, really, it’s a lie. Slughorn... he tried to pretend he cared about me as a student, that he wanted to help me with potions, or in my career. But it was really only about him, making him look impressive and all that. And Skeeter… all she cares about is headlines. She lies about me and doesn’t care if she hurts me with it. They’re sort of a perfect couple.” He mouth twisted involuntarily and he took a deep breath. “I don’t want that sort of garbage coming anywhere near this, or … us.”

Draco didn’t turn toward him or uncross his arms, but he did speak, at least. “So. There’s an ‘us’ now?” 

“Oh, Draco,” Harry said pathetically, not knowing how to fix this. What the hell was he supposed to say to that question? That misery? “I’m not asking you to bond with me tonight, or something crazy and over the top like that, but yes, of course there’s an ‘us,’ at least in some way, right? We had a spectacular time together at dinner tonight, didn’t we?”

Draco turned just enough to catch Harry’s eye, and Harry waited as patiently as he could. After a few painfully long seconds, Draco’s eyes went a little softer. Then he nodded. 

“Right,” Harry breathed a little easier. “And before that, we had a really nice, er… time. In your shop. Didn’t we?”

This time, Draco grinned at him wickedly. Harry felt his heart stutter with it. This man was so fucking sexy. How did he get them back to where they had been? Apparently, he had to do all of the talking. 

Harry straightened his shoulders and tried again. “So, here’s the thing. Sometimes you seem so… interested in me. Then, you’ll turn on a knut, and I can’t tell what’s going on, and then you don’t seem very interested anymore.”

“That’s because sometimes I’m alone with you, and then sometimes the whole world shows up right behind you, staring.” Draco’s tone was flat. His posture was mulish, as though it would take an act of law or magic to move his feet from the place he’d planted them. “I mean. Come on. We both know there aren’t a lot of gay wizards, Harry.” 

Harry felt his face warm up. “Are you settling for me, Draco?”

Draco whirled at him, glaring and angry. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re settling for me!”

Harry felt his jaw fall open, but he couldn’t quite bother to shut it. He was so overwhelmed with astonishment and self-righteous denial that he wanted to lash out at Draco’s statement. He wanted to smash the words. Rip them up. Stomp on them. 

Except, he had to do this with words. He had no words! He was so bad with words.

“I see you can’t even bring yourself to deny it,” Draco said, looking miserable.

“Oh _yes I can_ ,” Harry said at last. He grit his teeth and put his hands on his hips. He might be barely adequate to this task, but Merlin help him, he had to try. “But I refuse to do any more of this in public. I am taking you back to my house and we are discussing this privately.” Harry put out a hand and waited, jaw tight and eyebrows down low, just daring Draco to claim that he preferred to continue to hash this out in a bus shelter on Cranbourn. 

“Fine,” Draco said. He looked equally furious, but he put his hand out and allowed Harry to step in and wheel them off to Harry’s parlour.

“I need a drink,” Harry said, leaving Draco in the corner and heading for his modest liquor cabinet. He took out a tumbler and poured a generous measure of firewhiskey. He drained it, grimacing, then poured another one and added two ice cubes. 

“What would you like to drink?” he asked, trying to sound polite and calm. “I’ve got two kinds of firewhiskey: an 1837 and a 1925. I’ve got an Ice Vodka and a bottle of Jamaican Rum, plus a few bottles of wine and also Muggle soda pop in the kitchen.”

“I… erm, Ice Vodka,” Draco said slowly. He sat in Harry’s favourite chair and looked perfect there. Biting back a sigh, Harry poured Draco two fingers of Ice Vodka and offered him ice. Looking down his nose at Harry, far from smiling, Draco shook his head slowly. Apparently, one did not put actual ice in Ice Vodka. Plastering on a smile, Harry handed Draco his drink and sat down in the chair next to him. 

Dropping his head and looking at the floor, Harry tried again. “Draco, I am not settling for you as a date. Or, if you’ll consent, as a sexual partner.” Harry paused to push away thoughts of how desperately he longed for Draco to consent to being his sexual partner. 

Harry took a deep breath and a moment to think; trying to speak clearly, to make sense, to leave out nothing of value. He was so glad to be indoors for this, away from strangers and inside his comfortable house.

“I was _not_ ashamed to be seen out in public with you, and if Skeeter decides to out us in the Prophet, I will not be ashamed that people know we went out to dinner together or that I brought you home with me. As I tried to say before, I didn’t want to be anywhere near those two because I can’t stand them. I want to spend tonight with _you_ , Draco. Not _them_.”

“Want _ed_ , you mean,” Draco said in a cool voice, and then he sipped his drink. Harry watched as the freezing Ice Vodka briefly tinged Draco’s lips blue with cold. 

“No, I still want to spend tonight with you, Draco. Why do you think that’s changed?” Harry turned in his chair to better see Draco’s expression.

Confusion flickered across Draco’s face briefly before vanishing, replaced by a polite blandness that made Harry’s jaw hurt. He drank deeply from his firewhiskey and waited for an answer. 

But instead of speaking, Draco stood up and walked to the far window, where a streetlight outside turned his blond hair into a halo and his tall, narrow frame into a knife splitting the lit and dark sides of the room. Staring out Harry’s window, Draco slowly finished his Ice Vodka. The only sounds were the traffic on the street.

Then Draco turned, put the glass down on the edge of the windowsill, and perched his arse next to it; not quite sitting, not quite standing. 

Harry fought back a fantasy of what he could do to Draco as he stood in that window. He needed to concentrate; to listen.

“I’ve never been an enthusiast of meaningless sex,” Draco finally began. He was staring somewhere well above Harry’s head. “Yes, I want to have sex with you. Of course I do. I’m _alive_ , am I not? Blood and magic pump through my veins. I’m only twenty-three, for Merlin’s sake.” 

He looked into Harry’s eyes for a heartbeat, and Harry felt his fists clench as he forcibly kept his own mouth shut. He wanted to jump in and reassure Draco, yet he needed to let the other man finish talking.

“But I’ve never been very good at jumping in and out of beds,” continued Draco. “I went to some Muggle clubs after the war. I loved the dancing, the music, the flirting. The men. So I thought I would love the fellatio. Well, to be frank, I did rather like it while I was receiving it.” He dipped his head down and Harry thought, even in the shadows, he might be able to see a bit of a blush on Draco’s high cheekbones.

“But as soon as someone sucked my cock, I found it was too hard to let him slip back into the crowd, to watch him find another man to take in the back. Worst of all, to see him take another man home. I…” Draco looked up at the ceiling and tightened his fingers around the edge of Harry’s windowsill. 

Harry waited for him to finish his thoughts. 

“I stopped going to the clubs,” Draco eventually said. “I opened a business. It was easy to let it take up all my time. I worked hard to make a reputation for myself as an honest business owner, a skillful Wizard. And, regarding romance, I decided that I couldn’t ruin a woman’s happiness and I didn’t need a man. As a result, I’ve been essentially celibate for three years.” He tipped his head, looked into Harry’s eyes, and winked wickedly. Harry felt his breath stutter in his lungs.

“Not counting masturbation, of course. And a very agreeable moment with you on Tuesday.”

Now Harry was the one blushing. He kept Draco’s eye and willed him to see the honesty and shyness in his smile.

Draco stood abruptly and strode away to the other side of the room. Harry watched him attentively, but did not stand up to follow.

“So you see, I’ve allowed you to catch me in a bind. You claimed tonight that you aren’t settling for me, even as a date. Yet, when I asked you on Tuesday why you wanted to take me out tonight, you offered reasons -- loneliness, a lack of gay wizards -- that give me a very different, even contradictory impression of your motivations. As a man with a lot to lose and a habit of protecting my flank, I tried to say no to you. Instead, I asked you to kiss me. I rather thought you would blanch or balk -- revealing your true feelings. I assumed your interest had to be feigned. Or at least… hesitant.” 

Draco turned to face Harry and bore his attention, deep into Harry’s eyes. “Imagine my surprise, and delight, when Harry Potter himself couldn’t stop himself from coming in his pants. Over me! Over me.” 

Harry moved to answer this provocation, but Draco held up a hand and Harry shut his mouth. A relief, as he had little idea of what to say beyond offering sexual favours as proof of his interest. _Even I_ , he thought, _know it isn’t the time for that._

Draco looked up toward the ceiling briefly. “So I agreed to go out with you this evening, against my cautious nature, and all seemed to be proceeding reasonably well…” 

Draco turned his head slightly, proving that he had been avoiding Harry’s gaze. The warring looks of hunger and reticence Harry saw there made his cock stir and his mind hurt. The longer they dithered, the more desperate his lust for Draco became. By now, he thought, it might take some years to burn it out completely, and that only if they ceased to feed this fire.

“Until we ran into a pair of very solid reminders of what we both have to lose.”

“I… but… lose?” Harry sputtered. He wanted to deny this, to say something perfect and reassuring, but he was so off-balance that he couldn’t cobble together a sentence.

Draco leaned toward him. “What do _you_ have to lose? How about your privacy?”

Harry snorted.

“Do you deny that you have some measure of privacy?”

“I do, but I have had to craft it myself, Draco. To fight for it. Dating you wouldn’t make that any harder.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. 

“Okay,” Harry conceded. “I suppose that it could make it _somewhat_ harder. But I live in an Unplottable house, I spend very little time in public Wizarding places, I have the strongest possible wards and I have written statements filed with the Prophet and Witch Weekly and all those type of publications.” 

Draco gave him a look of curiosity, so Harry explained further. “I’ve had my solicitor write to all of them, explaining that I’m a private citizen and I have the right to sue them for libel in the Muggle courts. UK libel laws are damned impressive anyway. They’re even more impressive if you don’t understand them well, or have any idea of how to deal with Muggle courts.” Harry grinned.

“Granger,” Draco said, a look of understanding and amusement crossing his face.

“You know it,” Harry said, smiling broadly. “Founding partner of the one and only joint Wizarding/Muggle legal firm in the whole UK.”

Draco tipped his head once, looking at Harry speculatively. Then he sat down on an ottoman. Though he was no closer, Harry felt his shoulders relax a bit. They were making progress.

“I know you are concerned that I could hurt you, emotionally.” Harry stumbled a bit, but now he thought he could handle this. “The truth is, I can’t make you any promises about long relationships or marriage or anything permanent. But I’ve known you for years, I know what I want, and I know what I like. I’m very, very interested in you, Draco.” Harry paused, but Draco said nothing; though he seemed to be listening to Harry’s every word.

Harry swallowed once, then refocused on Draco’s eyes. “But I am not on this date because I am ‘settling’ for the only gay wizard I can find who probably won’t try to tempt the newspaper into risking a defamation lawsuit. I am on this date because I rather desperately want to get you into bed. Nude, if possible.” Harry winked and Draco smiled back.

“So let me tell you what I _can_ promise.” Harry stood up abruptly and paced away from Draco as he spoke. “I can promise that I don’t just want to have sex because of your looks.” He turned and paced toward Draco. “I can also promise that I don’t _just_ want to fuck you because of your brain. Or your heart, for that matter.” He paused to stop pacing and look at Draco’s face. Draco looked amused, but as Harry searched his face, he thought he saw something else start to creep into Draco’s expression: tenderness. Or perhaps trust would be a better description. Some trust, and some willingness to show it. Bolstered, Harry tried to continue to make his case. 

“You are an intriguing man, Draco Malfoy. If I’d been tasked with describing what my ideal lover would look like, I suspect I’d have painted a pale imitation of you. But, like I said, it isn’t just your looks that have hooked me.”

Harry tried to tick off his thoughts onto his fingers. He stood a few steps from Draco and leaned against the stone edge of his fireplace.

“First of all, you’re really hard working. I admire the success you’ve made of your shop. I particularly admire the way you’ve learned about Muggles, learned to work with them and walk in their world when you need to.

“Second, you’re cautious about this, thoughtful. Which I really do appreciate.” Harry stopped and looked into Draco’s eyes, then let a large grin spread over his face. “Except for the blue balls, of course, but I’m a grown man. I can handle it.”

Draco’s eyes laughed even as his cheeks went a bit pink. 

“Third, you’re really polite and sophisticated and stuff, even while you are still perfectly able to be both sarcastic, and funny.”

Harry moved to tick off another quality on his fingers, but before he could begin to explain how he had noticed and admired Draco’s intelligence, Draco stepped closer and put his hands up.

“No more,” he murmured quietly. “My ego. You’re going to inflate me to the point where I won’t be able to get out of your home.”

“I think I’ve done that before,” Harry said, distracted by Draco’s nearness, his warmth, the scent of his cologne.

Draco reached out and smoothed Harry’s collar down. “Messy,” he said, almost in a whisper. “Can’t have that…”

Silent, watching, swallowing: Harry drowned his mind in possible verbal responses. As a result, he said nothing out loud, but Draco seemed to understand him perfectly nonetheless. He stepped slightly closer in, looking down -- perhaps not at Harry’s eyes, but Harry’s mouth, instead?

Then he dipped his head low, and brushed his lips over Harry’s. “You’re very convincing,” he said on a breath. He kissed him again, and Harry reached out blindly, finding Draco’s hips. Draco’s hands slipped around, and he went from pressing against Harry’s lapels to gripping his shoulders. 

Someone made a strangled, whimpering sound. Harry thought he might have done it himself. But Draco didn’t seem to notice. Or perhaps it was only that he didn’t care. He kissed Harry again, and this time, instead of gently making contact and pulling away, he lingered at Harry’s mouth. He opened his lips and Harry opened his own and then their bodies were pressed tightly together; their hands were burning points of tight, fierce contact; their mouths were everything that mattered. 

Harry felt them spin disorientatingly through the Floo, felt the sparks and flames teasing the edges of their united dance, and was quite surprised a few moments later, to open his eyes as Draco bit and kissed his neck, and discover that they hadn’t moved a millimetre from where they stood together on his flagstone hearth. 

“Bed… bedroom?” Harry managed to say, as Draco continued to lavish his neck with mind-altering attention.

“Yes,” replied Draco, assurance and certainty ladled over the word.

“Yes,” Harry repeated dumbly, and he grabbed Draco’s hand.

They moved swiftly up the staircase, Draco following as Harry rushed, his throbbing new erection interfering but not slowing him down. Harry threw open his bedroom door. He’d anticipated that they would arrive here tonight, so the room was clean and neat, there were fresh sheets on the bed, and a candle burned very low on the bedside table.

He’d anticipated that they would arrive here a good half hour earlier.

Harry stopped and turned and saw Draco standing in his doorway. Draco smiled, neither wolfishly nor flirtatiously. Instead, all Harry saw on Draco’s face, in his smile, was open delight. Joy. Harry smiled back, feeling like it might split his face wide open. 

“To answer the question you asked earlier?” Draco began.

“Yeah?” Harry was probably going to damage his shirt if he wasn’t more careful removing it, but he was sure he didn’t care.

“The answer is ‘yes.’ I am that flexible.” With his foot, Draco shoved the door closed behind him.

Harry felt his mouth go dry.

They stayed up for hours, exploring, touching, enjoying. Testing Draco’s assertion.

He really was, too.

 

Epilogue

“Well, Severus,” Draco said as he stepped away from the garlic green beans. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Severus took the tongs in hand and put a large heap of garlic green beans on his plate. He nodded once to Draco. “I find Chinese buffets inexpensive and convenient,” he said. “I assume you do, as well.” He turned away to ladle moo goo gai pan over the neat mound of white rice on his plate. 

“Oh,” said Draco carelessly, “I’d not actually tried one before a few weeks ago. Harry loves this place, though.”

Draco caught the way Severus’ hand froze momentarily before he could hide his reaction. He stood slightly taller and told himself quite sternly not to giggle.

“So,” Severus said calmly. He began to walk toward a booth, so Draco followed him. “I gather then,” Severus said as he chose a table, placed his food in the middle of one side, and slid into the booth in such a way as to take up an entire bench seat. “That Potter contacted you?”

“He did indeed,” Draco said, sitting down.

“And I presume he is here with you now?”

“He will arrive any moment,” Draco said, and watched Severus’ eyes narrow as he raised his head to look toward the front door.

“Be nice,” Draco said mildly, as the door’s bell jangled.

“Always,” Severus growled. Then he raised the side of his mouth in a sneer. “After all,” he said, sounding positively furious, as Draco rose to greet Harry --splendid in his fedora-- and wave him over to the booth, “how could I be anything but _nice_ to the student who taught me about _garlic green beans_?”

__

FIN

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End file.
